


Rites of Spring

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Erotica, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Heterosexual Sex, Not Epilogue Compliant, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-War, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Erotic Couplings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-02
Updated: 2010-06-02
Packaged: 2018-10-27 11:59:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10808589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Ginny’s Beltane begins with one tradition and ends with another that’s  as old as Nature itself.





	Rites of Spring

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** Written for Daily Deviant, May 2010.

Ginny awoke at dawn on the morning of the first of May, blinking slowly in the lambent light pouring through the open window before sitting up and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. The Burrow was still and silent around her, the ghoul in the attic quiet, her parents still asleep.

Reaching for her dressing gown, Ginny shoved her feet into the worn blue slippers sitting beside the bed and shrugged into the gown, pulling it around her as she tiptoed from the room, padding down the stairs and into the kitchen. Still on tiptoe, she made her way to the door and slipped outside into the early morning sunshine. The back garden sparkled with dew, each drop glittering and prismatic, and Ginny smiled in delight, breathing in the fresh air.

Kneeling in the damp grass, Ginny slid her fingers through the lush green blades, wetting them thoroughly before patting the dew over her forehead and across her cheeks. Dipping her hands, she collected more moisture and repeated the process, tongue darting out to lick the water from her lips. Droplets slid over her chin and down her neck, the coolness making her shiver pleasurably.

Her face and hands were damp, her nightdress soaked to the knees when Ginny finally stood. Pulling her wand from the pocket of her dressing gown, she walked to a nearby rowan tree in full bloom, using a small Severing Charm to cut off sprigs of white flowers. Braiding them into her hair, she tucked away her wand and returned to the house. Her mother had awakened while she was gone, putting on the tea kettle when Ginny stepped inside. She looked over to Ginny and smiled, which surprised her. She’d expected Mum to scold for getting her nightclothes damp.

“I used to wash my face in the dew on Beltane when I was a girl, too,” she said, placing a frying pan atop the cooker. “What would you like for breakfast?”

“Toast and eggs are fine.” Ginny joined her mother, pulling down two chipped mugs and preparing tea. “Why did you stop?”

“I married your father, of course,” Mum answered. “It was why my friends and I washed in the dew in the first place, in hopes of catching visions of future husbands. We never did, but it was fun to try. Were you planning to attend the festivities in Hogsmeade today?”

“I thought about it,” Ginny said, diffident. “There’s supposed to be a maypole, and dancing, and a bonfire later tonight, followed by more dancing. I might go just to see Aberforth try to lead his goats between the flames. The bonfire’s supposed to purify the livestock from evil spirits, or at least that was what I read once.”

“You should go.” Molly broke half a dozen eggs into a bowl and began whisking. “It’s been nearly a year since you left school, and you’ve kept to the Burrow nearly the entire time. Girls your age should be out having fun. See the world a bit, do mad things before settling down.” She paused, and added, “Perhaps Harry will be there.”

Ginny frowned and reached for a bread knife and a loaf, and started cutting slices for toast. “Mum, we’re not getting back together anytime soon, if at all...and I’m not sure I’m ready to try again just yet. Besides, I doubt he’ll be there. Ron’s always so busy with Auror training, so it follows Harry will be as well.”

“Then go for you.” Pouring the eggs into the frying pan, Molly stood back from the cooker, hands on hips. “That’s it, I’m officially kicking you out of the house today, right after you’ve had your breakfast, and that’s final.”

“All right, I’ll go!” Ginny rolled her eyes. Harry probably wouldn’t be there, and seeing other couples laughing and snuggling and dancing around the maypole wouldn’t be at all enjoyable, but there would be May wine and the prospect of watching Aberforth try to control his goats when it came time to guide them past the bonfire. She could at least do her best to salvage the day without wallowing in too much self pity. She’d been in worse situations, after all.

Taking the bread knife from Ginny, her mother nodded toward the stairs. “Go wash up. Breakfast will be ready when you’re finished.”

*~)O(~*

Fortunately, the first familiar face Ginny spotted upon her arrival in Hogsmeade was Neville Longbottom’s. She was still surprised when he grabbed her hand and swept her into an exuberant hug before tugging her down the high street toward the maypole, clearly visible on the village outskirts.

“Save me,” Neville said past his smile, still gripping her hand. “I’ll be in your debt forever.”

“What do you need saving from?” Ginny asked lightly, giving his fingers a squeeze. “You’re a capable apprentice herbologist, aren’t you? There’s nothing you can’t do.”

“Just look like you’re glad to see me. Hopefully it’ll help turn away half the sixth and seventh year girls who would like nothing more than to dance around the maypole with Professor Sprout’s assistant.”

Ginny giggled. “Are they all that ugly?”

“No.” Neville paused long enough to release her hand in favour of sliding his arm around Ginny’s waist. “They’d rather hear stories about how I killed that damn snake instead of what mulch works best with snapping snapdragons. It never grows old for _them_ , apparently.” Giving her a sidelong glance, he added, “Besides, you already know I can’t dance. Think of the toes you’d save. Seriously, I’ll do anything – buy all the May wine you can drink, any trinket that catches your eye, dinner at the Three Broomsticks – whatever you want.”

“But what if I wanted to dance around the maypole too?” Ginny asked. The look Neville gave her in return was filled with such horror she threw back her head and laughed, clutching his arm to stay upright. “Oh, all right, consider yourself rescued. We’ll just watch from a safe distance. Your admirers will think you’re unavailable, and everyone else won’t have a chance to ask why I’m not with Harry. Deal?”

“Deal.” Neville’s arm tightened around her waist momentarily in gratitude. “People still ask why you’re not with Harry? It’s been almost a year since you broke things off, hasn’t it?”

“I guess people can’t understand why I wouldn’t want to be attached to the Saviour of the Wizarding world,” Ginny replied dryly, smiling sweetly when a girl she didn’t know shot her a poisonous glare upon recognising who she was with. “Harry and I are friends, that’s the important thing.”

Ginny and Neville found a prime viewing spot for the maypole dancing, clapping in time to the music while the participants twirled around and around, the circle tightening as the ribbons in their hands plaited downward along the pole until space and ribbons both were gone. Neville resolutely ignored the jealous glares sent his way, while Ginny smiled and cuddled closer.

“You’re enjoying this entirely too much,” Neville murmured. “People are going to think we really are a couple.”

“Would that be such a bad thing? Besides, you asked.” Ginny handed him another cup of May wine, a sprig of meadowsweet floating on the surface, snagging a second cup for herself.

“True.” Neville got to his feet, holding out a hand to help Ginny up as well. “You’re quite the actress.”

“It’s not acting, it’s good company.” Ginny linked her arm through his. “I’ve always been able to talk to you. You’ve always been there for me; it’s only fair I return the favour once in a while.”

Neville ducked his head, blushing. “Are you hungry?” he asked in a transparent attempt to change the subject. “I know I am.”

After purchasing a garland of rowan and hawthorn blossoms for Ginny to wear, Neville treated her to a late lunch at the Three Broomsticks, where they spent the afternoon catching up. Ginny updated him on the lives of her surviving brothers: Bill and Fleur were expecting again, Charlie had been promoted at the Romanian dragon reserve, Percy had likewise recently received a promotion at the Ministry, George and Lee were busy with the joke shop, and Ron was drowning in his Auror studies.

“I’m thinking of trying out for the Harpies,” she concluded. “Open tryouts are next month. I spoke to Angelina, and she says I have a pretty good shot at making the team as a second-string Chaser. It beats staying home all day doing nothing.” Biting into a chip, Ginny propped her chin in her other hand. “So you like being an apprentice?”

“I love it. Pomona’s been great.” Neville smiled before sighing dramatically. “Of course, now that I’ve said that, she’ll probably want a detailed essay about the nine woods traditionally burned at Beltane, along with all of their medicinal, magical, and mythological properties. And then she’ll task me with discovering a new use for at least one of them.”

“And I have every faith you’ll succeed,” Ginny declared, popping the rest of the chip into her mouth.

~*)O(*~

The bonfire was held at sundown. The mayor made a short speech before thrusting a torch into the enormous pile of wood, and the real merriment of the festival commenced. Ginny and Neville laughed and clapped along with the other revellers as Aberforth led his goats around the bonfire, managing two circuits without mishap to either him or his goats. The last goat hadn’t even departed before the dancing began, people whirling and leaping around the flames.

Unexpectedly, Neville seized Ginny’s hand, pulling her toward the fire. “Dance with me.”

“Dance? How much May wine have you had today?”

“Same amount as you.” Neville still had hold of her hand. “It doesn’t have to be dancing. We could...we could sort of, um, skip. I think I could manage that much without tripping over my two left feet.” He grinned at her. “Last chance. Moments like these don’t happen every day.”

He pulled her into the ring of dancers circling the flames. True to his word, Neville sort of skipped along, while Ginny spun and twirled around him, the heat of the fire soaking into her skin, warming her. Beside her Neville loosened the collar of his robes.

Another twirl brought her face-to-face with him. Dizzy, Ginny lost her balance, glad when he reached out to steady her. Their gazes caught and held, and Ginny suddenly found it difficult to breathe. Neville’s eyes burned into her with an intensity she could neither deny nor laugh away, and the warmth surging through her was no longer completely due to the heat from the bonfire.

Sliding her hands down Neville’s arms, Ginny twined her fingers through his, leading him from the circle of revellers.

“Dance with me,” she whispered, pulling him deeper into the shadows. Lifting one of their joined hands to her mouth, she closed her lips over his thumb, tongue swirling slowly around the digit, her teeth lightly grazing the skin. She heard Neville’s breath catch, saw his eyes widen.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Dance with me,” she said again, giving his thumb a final lick. Grasping his wrist, she lowered his hand, guiding his fingertips down the column of her throat before pressing his palm against her breast. “Someone once told me moments like these don’t happen every day.” Standing on tiptoe, she kissed him, tasting white wine and meadowsweet as his lips parted, his tongue sliding along hers.

Perhaps it was the night’s special magic with its emphasis on the renewal of life. Perhaps it was simply the singular enchantment of being with Neville. Ginny no longer knew, nor did she care as Neville’s palm curled over her offered breast, kneading gently, swallowing her muffled moans of pleasure.

Lips still slanting over his, Ginny unfastened his robe, helping him shrug it off before doing the same with the shirt he wore underneath. Neville’s fingers fumbled at the buttons marching down the front of her sundress, his touch leaving trails of sensation over her skin as he finally pushed the straps of the dress over her shoulders and down her arms.

"You’re beautiful,” Neville whispered, voice rough. “You practically glow in the firelight.”

Ginny couldn’t think of an appropriate response; indeed, she found it difficult to think at all. She wanted to see the contrast of his sun-browned hands as they covered her small white breasts; wanted to brush the lock of brown hair from his forehead as he lowered her to the ground, using their discarded clothing as a cushion. Instead, she watched Neville bend his head and take one pink nipple into his mouth, clasping him to her, her fingers skimming lightly along the length of his spine to his waist, a sigh escaping her lips as he licked and suckled, shifting to give her other breast equal time and loving attention.

Her hand glided from his waist to his belly, and then lower, closing around his cock. It twitched beneath her, straining against his jeans, and Neville drew back with a small gasp.

The tiniest of smiles played across Ginny’s lips, fingers grazing the denim with light, teasing touch before moving to her own waist. She saw Neville swallow hard as she lifted her hips and pushed her knickers down past her thighs, leaving her completely nude and open to his gaze.

"You, too," she murmured, stretching beneath him. "I want to see you, too."

His jeans joined her discarded sundress moments later. Threading her fingers through Neville’s hair, Ginny began kissing him again with lush, languid thoroughness, undulating her hips against his, each movement rubbing against his erection. She ached with need, wanting him to fill her, wanting to take hold of the magic filling them both. He was hard and smooth beneath her hands, skin like damp silk over broad muscle. She couldn’t get enough of the taste of him, breaking free from his lips to lick at his throat and the salt gathered there.

Neville pushed her back onto the ground with gentle urgency, kissing a path down her neck and chest and further, until he lay between Ginny's thighs, tongue lapping at her wetness. Ginny gasped and sobbed, writhing beneath him as his tongue delved into her, feeling her belly tighten and ache until she stiffened, her back arching as she came, her cries mingling with those of like mind sharing the shadows around them, taking advantage of the night’s enchantment.

Ginny moaned at the taste of her juices on Neville's tongue when he slid along her body to kiss her again, more possessively than before. Her hands stroked down Neville's sides, gathering him to her, spreading her legs wide as she guided him inside. His brown eyes widened as he sank into her, lips parting in a soft groan before bending to press his forehead against hers, trembling.

She stretched around him, hot and wet, holding him tightly, curling her legs around Neville's waist, fingernails biting deep into his shoulders. Their breaths mingled as Neville began to move within her, brows knitting together, his eyes slipping shut in fierce concentration. His hips snapped against Ginny's as he thrust into her, the heat and friction building inexorably between them as his movements quickened and grew more urgent. Ginny clenched around him, rocking against him back and forth, over and over, whispering encouragement.

Neville stiffened above her, head thrown back, the cords in his neck straining, the sound of his gasps filling her ears as he spilled deep inside her in hot, wet pulses, his eyes shut tight. He whimpered softly when Ginny tightened around his softening cock, shaking with aftershock.

Withdrawing, Neville slumped beside her, breathing hard. Ginny curled into him, cradling her head against his shoulder, her fingers idly toying with a nipple, stopping when he let out an overstimulated hiss and resting her hand on his belly instead. He felt warm and solid as the awakening earth beside her. Neville turned his head, meeting her eyes, and cuddled her close.

“That was quite a dance,” he said softly.

“You’re quite a dancer,” she replied, tracing circles around his navel. “I think we should dance again before the night ends.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Neville said, moving to kiss Ginny again. “I could get used to dancing.”


End file.
